Fall of a Philanderer

by Carola Dunn

  In response to the knocking Mrs. Anstruther hurried from the kitchen. “Peter!” she cried, and ran into his widespread arms.

  Dropping his cap, he lifted her up and swung her around in a hug, his tanned face split by a wide, white beam between his neat moustache and the short, pointed beard à la King George. “Well, Cecily, m’dear, your sailor’s home from sea. And in such a hurry to see his gal, he took the early mail train down and did without his breakfast.”

  Half laughing, half crying, Mrs. Anstruther said, “Put me down, you big lubber, and there’ll be bacon and eggs on the table in a jiffy.” As he obeyed, she caught sight of Daisy and Baskin. She smoothed her hair, blushing. “I beg your pardon, Mrs. Fletcher, I didn’t see you. May I introduce my husband? My lodgers, Peter—Mrs. Fletcher and Mr. Baskin. Mrs. Fletcher has two little girls with her and Mr. Fletcher arrives today.”

  Polite greetings were exchanged and the Anstruthers went off to the kitchen, arm-in-arm. Baskin turned to Daisy with a grin.

  “If I hang about, may I hope to see an equally enthusiastic meeting when Mr. Fletcher arrives?”

  Smiling, Daisy said, “Don’t delay your walk. I’m not sure when he’ll get here.”

  Their landlady reappeared, pink-faced and flustered, with Baskin’s packed lunch. Daisy went slowly upstairs. It was none of her business but she couldn’t help wondering whether Cecily Anstruther was going to confess about her affair with Enderby or simply hope Peter would not find out.

  At Belinda’s insistence, Daisy and the girls met every Abbotsford ferry from mid-morning onward. As expected, Alec arrived after lunch. Daisy spotted him from afar, sitting in the stern, pipe in mouth. Her heart gave a little leap. If she hadn’t been properly brought up and in a very public place, she would have been quite happy to run into his arms.

  As it was, she left that for Bel, who barely let him step onto solid ground before launching herself at him with a squeal: “Daddy!”

  “Darling!” said Daisy.

  That was practically the only word she managed to fit in as they walked back to the guest-house, following a porter with Alec’s bags on a trolley. Deva was somewhat in awe of Alec to start with, but with Bel chattering away about their castles and dams and walks, and more especially about Sid, Deva soon chimed in.

  The porter led the way along the street, which was not much wider than the track by the beach and became an unpaved lane by the time it reached the house. Generally, Daisy and the girls avoided the lane, after an experience with a motor-car which had forced them to jump into the hedge and hold their breath to let it pass. However, the front door was no doubt more appropriate than the back garden for a new arrival with luggage.

  Daisy opened the door and the porter carried the bags in. While Alec paid him, she rang the bell on the hall table.

  Cecily Anstruther came out of the sitting room. Though obviously preoccupied, she welcomed Alec and had him sign her guest-book. “If there’s anything you want, just let me know,” she said. “I hope you’ll enjoy your stay in Westcombe.”

  “Judging by my wife’s postcards and my daughter’s rhapsodies, I’m bound to,” Alec said with a laugh.

  “Oh, Daddy!”

  “Off you go now, Bel, and let your father settle in in peace. The tide must be well on its way out by now. We’ll come and find you on the beach, but—”

  “Don’t go in the water till you come,” the girls chorused, and they ran upstairs to change.

  Alec declined the assistance of the maid to get his bags upstairs. But once in their corner bedroom, he ignored the view over the beach and the inlet, took off his jacket and tie, and with a sigh stretched out full length on the bed.

  Daisy sat on the edge of the bed and took his hand. “Tired?”

  “It’s going to take me a while to get into the holiday spirit, love. We just finished up a nasty case, and I left the paper-work for poor Tom to cope with. He and his missus are going to Clacton-on-Sea for a couple of days next week. He sent his best regards, by the way.”

  “I just posted a card to him and Mrs. Tring.” Daisy was very fond of Alec’s detective sergeant. “Should I send one to Superindentent Crane?”

  “Great Scott, no, Daisy! The less the super’s reminded of your existence, the happier he is.”

  “It’s most unfair. Anyone would think I actually went around searching for dead bodies!”

  “I take it you haven’t found any here. Let us be grateful for small mercies. Who is this Sid Belinda and Deva were going on about?”

  “Not at all the sort of person anyone would wish to murder. He’s a beachcomber, a simpleton but perfectly harmless.” Daisy filled in the bits of Sid’s story that Bel had left out. “There’s the glass ball he gave me,” she concluded, “on the windowsill.”

  Alec lazily turned his head. “Very pretty. And those long walks Bel mentioned and Deva bemoaned—you haven’t been overtiring yourself, I hope, what with looking after those two and all?”

  “I feel frightfully hale and hearty, darling. It must be the sea air. The girls have been very good, and the walks were my doing. Just wait till I get you up on the cliffs. You can see forever.”

  “Not this afternoon,” Alec said firmly. “The farthest I intend to walk is to the best pub in town for a drink before dinner. I take it there’s somewhere respectable enough for you to accompany me?”

  Daisy hesitated. The Schooner was the obvious answer, yet she wasn’t at all sure she wanted to patronize the place. Still, Alec would be bound to find out about it and wonder why she hadn’t mentioned it, and she didn’t want to spoil his holiday by explaining all the complications surrounding George Enderby. Surely the dratted man wouldn’t approach her if she had her husband right by her side!

  “There’s the Schooner Inn,” she said, trying to hide her reluctance. “It’s the biggest hotel and it has a public bar.”

  “The Schooner let it be. Come and lie down for five minutes, love. I’m sure you ought to take an afternoon nap, in your condition.”

  Her condition didn’t noticeably cool his ardour. A delightful hour passed before they joined the girls on the beach. If Enderby had a rendezvous on the cliffs that afternoon, Daisy saw him neither coming nor going.

  6

  Though Daisy would not have broached the subject of the Schooner Inn with Mrs. Anstruther, Alec had no such inhibition. The inn had both public and lounge bars, she told them. Local women were rarely seen in either, and the public was the haunt of farm labourers and fishermen but the lounge was patronized by summer visitors both male and female. She offered to keep an eye on the girls if the Fletchers would like to go out after dinner, so they waited until Bel and Deva were in bed before they strolled into the village.

  In the twilight, the inlet was busy with pleasure boats heading homeward on the incoming tide after a day’s sailing and a few fishing smacks heading down to the sea for a night’s work. When they crossed in the narrows, a good deal of shouting ensued, but it seemed mostly good-humoured, perhaps because of the glorious evening. The air was balmy, the fragrance of myrtle and nicotiana spiced with the pervasive tang of salt and seaweed. An owl hooted from the woods on the far side of the water.

  “Idyllic,” murmured Alec, his arm around Daisy’s waist. “I’m not surprised the Germonds have come here every summer since the War.”

  “Yes, I’m so glad Melanie recommended it. Mrs. Anstruther is a dear, isn’t she? I do hope everything will turn out all right for her.”

  “If she treats every guest as she treats us, I don’t see why it shouldn’t, though I suppose Westcombe doesn’t get many winter visitors. But Anstruther’s a warrant officer—I should think he makes enough to keep the household going.” Alec had met Peter Anstruther at teatime and taken to him at once. “He doesn’t seem the type not to send home part of his pay.”

  That wasn’t at all what Daisy had meant, but she kept her resolve not to reveal the probability of marital discord in the near future. “He does seem a nice chap, doesn’t he? Y
ou didn’t seem so keen on Baskin, though.” They had met at dinner.

  “He’s certainly a success with the girls.” Alec’s laugh was not quite as carefree as he’d probably intended. “Perhaps I’m jealous.”

  “You’ve no need to be,” Daisy assured him, resting her head against his shoulder for a moment. The poor dear had these occasional fits of feeling he was too old for her. “Both Belinda and Deva think he must be slightly mad to spend all his holiday walking.”

  Alec laughed again, more cheerfully, but he said, “That young man impresses me as having some sort of ulterior agenda. I wonder what he’s up to?”

  “Maybe he smuggles brandy and silk stockings under cover of his hikes. Westcombe used to be quite a smuggling centre, I gather.”

  “Or drugs or diamonds,” he said thoughtfully.

  “Darling, you’re on holiday,” Daisy protested as they entered the Schooner and paused on the threshold of the lounge bar for a moment, surveying the scene.

  “So I am, and I have absolutely no reason for suspecting Baskin.”

  “How lucky, as he seems to have got here before us. And there’s Mr. Anstruther, too!”

  The public and lounge bars of the Schooner occupied the same long room, divided by the semi-circular bar and a wooden partition, almost black from years of tobacco smoke. Equally dark panelling covered the lower part of the walls of the lounge; the upper part, hung with yellowing prints of sailing ships, was papered in blue stripes entwined with bright pink rosebuds, part of the “doing up” of the inn, no doubt. A large gasolier in the centre and another over the bar illuminated all but the furthest corners. Above the empty fireplace, a ship in a bottle shared the mantelpiece with a stuffed octopus, glaring balefully from its glass case.

  Anstruther and Baskin were both in the lounge. The hiking schoolmaster sat at a table chatting with a couple who looked like holiday-makers. Daisy saw his glance flicker several times towards the Enderbys, serving behind the bar, before he noticed her and Alec and waved a greeting. She waved back and Alec nodded.

  The gunnery officer leant with his back against the bar, surrounded by several men who appeared to be some of the more prosperous local inhabitants, substantial shopkeepers and farmers, perhaps a lawyer or a doctor. He seemed entirely at ease, no doubt among friends he had grown up with. They were laughing and joking; snatches Daisy heard above the din of voices suggested Anstruther had just told some tall tale of his travels. But at least two of the faces she could see seemed to be concealing uneasiness behind their joviality. Did they know about Cecily Anstruther’s affair? Would one of them betray her?

  Seeing Alec and Daisy, Anstruther hailed them, “Mr. and Mrs. Fletcher, I’m buying, for my sins! What’s yours?”

  Alec took in the tankards in the hands of the group and said, “A pint of bitter, thanks,” though Daisy knew he had intended to treat himself to a whisky. She settled for ginger-beer, having heard of the hazards of the West Country draught cider known as scrumpy.

  Anstruther turned to the bar to give the order to Mrs. Enderby. A man on the public side saw him and called, “Hey, Pete, come and have a game of skittles.”

  “Nay,” said someone else, his tone a challenge, “Mester Anstruther’s an officer now, too high an’ mighty to play wi’ the likes o’ we.”

  “I’ll take you on for a pint, Mister Stebbins,” Anstruther retorted cheerfully. He paid for the Fletchers’ drinks and apologized to Daisy with a rueful grin. “Sorry to desert you, Mrs. Fletcher.”

  “I hope you beat him hollow,” said Daisy.

  She and Alec retired to a table, while Anstruther went through a door in the partition. Scarcely had it shut behind him when his lounge bar friends put their heads together and the pair in the know passed on their tidbit of scandal to the ignorant. Watching the relish of the enlighteners and the solemn head-shaking of the enlightened, Daisy was as certain of it as if she’d heard every word.

  “What dreadful gossips men are,” she exclaimed.

  Alec stared at her. “I hardly think telling you the painters are due to start on our bedroom on Monday morning qualifies as gossip!”

  “Oh no, sorry, darling, I’m afraid I wasn’t listening. I hope I’ll still like the colour when it’s all done.”

  “Your choice, you’ll have to live with it. I just hope they won’t get paint on the floorboards or the furniture.”

  “Mrs. Dobson will keep an eye on them. It’s very good of her to take responsibility for the painters and the dog while we’re away—above and beyond the duties of a cook-housekeeper. I wish we’d brought Nana, though. She’d have loved the beach and the long walks.”

  “We’d better find a cottage to let next year, and take both Nana and Mrs. Dobson with us, and a nanny by then, too.”

  “I foresee endless confusion between Nana the dog and Nanny the nursery nurse.”

  “Perhaps we’d better find one of those starched-up women who prefer to be called Nurse.”

  “Not for my baby!” said Daisy. “A nice comfy woman with a big lap, one who won’t be constantly at outs with Mrs. Dobson.”

  “And who likes dogs,” Alec proposed with a laugh.

  As they chatted of domestic matters, through the partition came the rumble of wooden balls on a wooden floor, the clatter of scattering skittles and occasional shouts of “Floorer!” and cheers. Then a bout of mingled applause and cheering was accompanied by an exuberant yell: “Ye ha’n’t lost your eye, Pete, my boy!”

  “Stands to reason,” someone else said loudly as the clamour died down. “He’s a gunner, arter all. Knows how to keep his eyes on the target.”

  “Pay up, Tom Stebbins! We all heard, a pint o’ scrumpy was the bet.”

  “A’right, a’right, don’t you be a-jostlin’ me!” said Stebbins angrily. “But was you to ask me, he’d best stay home and keep his eyes on his wife.”

  Silence fell in the public bar, so that Daisy heard perfectly Anstruther’s response, in a voice of quiet menace. “Just what do you mean by that, Tom Stebbins?”

  “Nothin’.” Stebbins sounded sullen now. “Only what everybody knows. There’s been a cuckoo in your nest.”

  “You take that back, you lying bastard!” roared Anstruther, in a voice accustomed to making itself heard through artillery and storms at sea.

  A general uproar ensued. The lounge was hushed now, listening to what was going on next door. Several men glanced towards the bar, but Enderby was not there—either he’d made himself scarce or he happened to have gone down to the cellars.

  As the tumult in the public continued, Alec half-rose. Daisy put her hand on his arm.

  “Darling, you’re on holiday. Besides, you’re a detective chief inspector, not a bobby on the beat. And it’s not your territory.”

  With a rueful shake of the head, Alec sat down. The din subsided, and Enderby returned to the bar.

  An instant later, tankards flew as Anstruther flung himself across the bar-top, face crimson with fury.

  “You stinking son-of-a-bitch!” he snarled.

  Enderby tried to duck, too late. Anstruther grabbed him by the tie and, still lying across the bar, started to strangle the gaping, gasping, goggle-eyed landlord.

  Alec sprang to his feet, as did half the men in the lounge. But the public bar patrons were before them. A couple of hefty fellows grasped Anstruther by the arms and hauled him backwards. He dragged Enderby halfway across the bar before the necktie escaped from his fists.

  As the two men forced Anstruther towards the door, Enderby lay panting, purple-faced, on the bar for a moment. With shaking hands he loosened the choking tie. He pushed himself backwards onto his feet and glanced at his wife, who had watched the attack with a stony expression, hands on her hips. He smoothed his hair, pulled his jacket straight, and gave his audience on both sides of the partition a would-be bright smile.

  “Some people simply can’t hold their booze, I’m afraid,” he said. “I just tapped a new keg of cider. Who’s first?”

  M
ost of the patrons settled down, some sniggering, some disapproving, but Alec caught Baskin’s eye across the room and Daisy observed their silent agreement. She gathered her handbag and started to rise.

  Alec frowned. “I suppose you can’t very well stay here.”

  “Certainly not.”

  “All right, come on.”

  The three went out into the street. It was chilly now, and dark once they moved away from the gaslight over the inn’s door. Another, at the corner where the main street reached the quay, helped until they had passed it. Baskin produced an electric torch. Ahead they could hear Anstruther’s slow—perhaps reluctant—but steady footsteps on the paved quay.

  “His friends have scarpered,” said Baskin. “Don’t want to get involved between husband and wife, I reckon.”

  “Darling, do you really think Anstruther’s going to beat Cecily?”

  “Not if I can stop him,” Alec said grimly. “When we reach the house, you’re to go straight up to the girls’ bedroom and stay there.”

  “Gosh no! She’s going to need a woman at her side.”

  “Daisy—”

  “It’s no use Daisying me, darling. I’m staying.”

  Alec sighed but ceased to protest. They walked on in silence. The footsteps ahead were inaudible now, as Anstruther left the paving and took the sandy track by the beach, but Daisy could make him out, a black figure against the paler sheen of the water. His shoulders slumped, he looked tired and discouraged. She felt a sudden pang of sympathy.

  The Anstruthers’ house rose on their right. Only one window was lit, on the ground floor. The kitchen, Daisy thought.

  Anstruther trudged up the steps from the path, silhouetted by the window beyond him. At the top, he hesitated. Baskin hastily switched off the torch, in case their quarry turned round, but he just moved to his left and sat down on the wall, facing the house, barely visible in the scatter of light. He appeared to take something from his pocket and fiddle with it.